Living Memories
by Kaelir of Lorien
Summary: A suddenly recurring nightmare leads Wilson to tell Sam the story of Amber.


**Author's Note: **Yes, more House, M.D. fanfiction! Another Wilson and Sam oneshot. I've been wondering if Wilson has told or will ever tell Sam about his experiences with Amber, so this focuses on what might happen with that. As always, I appreciate your comments and reviews!

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"Just a little longer…"

"We're always going to want just a little longer."

Her voice was barely a whisper now, and he was amazed at the calmness radiating from it, the acceptance that he just couldn't bring himself to feel. Her eyes were following him, no longer fearful, and she was looking at him as though she were simply sorry that she was leaving him to fend for himself in a world he was really too kind to handle.

He looked back at her, trying to draw strength from her strength, as he had been for all these months. Just months. That was all they had had together, and though he knew he should be grateful for that time, he still wished it could have turned into years, because something had been right this time. He needed her so _much_—and now he didn't know how he was going to face his life again without her.

She had closed her eyes for a moment, and the very look of her lying there like that sent a pang of anguish through his heart. Very soon she would be like that forever, and he couldn't face it—he didn't want her to go—she _couldn't_ just fall away when everything had been so _right_—

Then she glanced up at him again, and with another pang he realized she wanted him to let her go now. There was no use in delaying any longer; it would only become more painful as the minutes wore on. He held her gaze steadily for a moment, trying to blink away the tears so that she became clear again, so that he wouldn't have to look back on only a blurred memory.

She smiled at him.

And then something began to change; before he could even reach for the dialysis machine, a wind blew through the room, coming from absolutely nowhere. He looked around, watching with a growing panic as it swirled around the hospital bed, swaying the tubes on the wall, whipping her bright hair across her face. The floor began to shake.

She was still smiling.

Without warning, the overhead lights flickered and went out. He looked up, and there outside the observing window other lights were moving past, golden and swift, like street lamps. The wind was picking up again; he grabbed her hands and pulled her close, holding her to him regardless of the fact that she was dying. It was getting steadily louder, and over the wind, he thought he could hear people screaming, even though there was no one there but the two of them. A strange whooshing sound… Something suddenly sped past his head, and seconds later he felt a sharp stinging on the side of his face. He pressed his fingers to the spot and felt blood as he pulled his hand away with a shard of glass dropping into his palm.

She was bleeding, too.

A cut was growing on the side of her forehead, blood welling up and spilling down her face. He grabbed frantically for the bed sheet to quell the stream of red, but as he reached up another sliver of glass bit deeply into his hand, and he released the sheet with a low cry. Now broken pieces were flying everywhere, all around them, attacking them as the room started to spin out of control. It lurched to the side, and he was thrown back against the bed, and without reason she was tossed in the opposite direction.

He called out, struggling to grasp her hand, but she was just beyond his reach and still slipping away. "Amber!"

"Wake up. Come on."

She was disappearing, just fading into the storm of glass—

"James—wake up—"

"No… Amber…"

"_James!_"

Wilson's eyes flashed open and he quickly rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling to make sure the room was real. _His_ room, not hers. His breathing was coming in rapid gasps as he tried to shake off the effects of the dream. It had not bothered him like this in a long time.

He felt a hand stroking back the hair from his sweat-streaked forehead, and he looked over to see Sam half-sitting up, staring at him with obvious concern. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes following the quick movement of his chest as he tried to get control of himself again.

"What's going on?" she asked softly, shifting closer to him.

Swallowing hard, Wilson mutely shook his head and returned his gaze to the ceiling. He didn't want to talk about it. She hadn't been there.

"James," she said again, and he looked at her, reluctantly. "Please tell me."

He shook his head yet again. "It's not… important. Or relevant." The words hurt as he said them. It _was_ important—it always would be, on some level.

"Clearly it is." Sam let out a sigh that was concern and exasperation rolled into one. Then she dropped the bombshell. "Who's Amber?"

Oh, God. He did _not_ want to get into this conversation. "Not now, Sam," he answered, his tone slightly pleading. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, feeling somehow that it might help him avoid this topic. "I just—I need to get some sleep." He rolled over and faced the wall.

Sam let out a slight laugh. "What, you think I'm going to be jealous or something?" He could feel her moving around, and then she pulled him back over and snuggled down next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. "Come on—we've both been with other people since the divorce. What's wrong with talking about it?"

Wilson sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "It's not that I was with Amber that's bothering me… It's the fact that I'm… no longer with her." It was the only way he could put it, and even then it sounded wrong.

"So you really liked her and… it was a hard breakup?"

Wilson took a deep breath. "We didn't break up," he said.

Sam raised her head and stared at him. "Then—what—? I don't get it—"

It was easy to explain. It wasn't easy to talk about. He held up a hand before she could go on. "I'm sorry, Sam, it's just—" He turned his head away again. "I—don't really want to talk about it."

She drew his arm around her. "Why not?"

"Because…" Wilson hesitated, unsure, but if this relationship was going to work there needed to be a level of trust, even in this. He exhaled shakily. "Because—it still hurts too much."

Sam was quiet for a while, and it made Wilson rather nervous that he couldn't tell what she was thinking. He had never mentioned Amber before to her—there had been no reason to. It was something that was part of his past and not hers, something that only he could realize the significance of, though he wasn't sure that was exactly the right word for it. But now, Wilson began to think that maybe he _should_ explain what had happened. Sam had already noticed that he had changed quite a lot, and that brief time with Amber had been no small part of it.

"Ok," she murmured finally. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's… that's ok."

Wilson shook his head. "No—I _do_ want to talk about it." He gestured ambiguously, searching for some way to make her understand. "The problem is, I don't know if I _can_. But you—you should know." He sighed.

"Amber died." It was surprisingly easy to say, despite his fears. "About two years ago. We'd been dating for close to a year, and… it was really hard." He could see the memories in his mind, flashes of pictures of when they had been together. He took a deep breath and continued. "There was a bus crash, House was involved—the whole thing was complicated, but in the end… even House couldn't do anything to save her." He could still see it so clearly: the stark white room, the two of them on the hospital bed, the way her fingers caressed his arm as if trying to say it would be ok. Wilson felt his eyes becoming moist. "I pretty much watched the only person I'd loved in years pass out of my life before we even got started."

Without a word Sam snuggled in closer. Wilson tried to smile.

"It was a long time before I got over it," he went oh, his tone hushed. "I stayed in her apartment for over year after that just because—well, I didn't want to leave it all behind. But it got better after a while. That dream I was having… it's the first time in months it's come back. I—I wasn't expecting it."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered. It was probably the only thing she could say, and Wilson nodded as his hand traced the length of her upper arm.

"Me too."

They lay there quietly for a long time, not saying anything, not moving, just enjoying each other's company. Wilson was beginning to find that where once this kind of dream had always lurked at the back of his mind for days afterwards, now it was already fading. It wasn't so much that it hurt any less; it just couldn't control him anymore. Being with Sam again had made a world of difference in his whole attitude—he could move on with his life.

"James?"

He looked at her. "Hm?"

"I'm not really tired anymore. Are you?" There was something in her voice that made him want to laugh.

Wilson pretended to think about it. "Well... no, not really. But what else is there to do besides go back to sleep?"

"_James_." Slapping his arm playfully, Sam leaned over and kissed him. "Well, I've got a _few_ ideas."

"Oh?" Wilson said, his voice muffled as he returned the kiss. "Well, as long as you have something in mind…"

She smiled at him.

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Again, thanks very much for reading, and please leave your comments and constructive criticism! I love to know what I'm doing right and what I can improve on, and I can only figure it out through you readers!


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